Thursday, 19 February 2009

MICE

We have mice. Big mice...

Grill has taken to trying to kill them by dressing up as a skirting board, then lying on the floor with his mouth open. The stench of singed rodent fur still stings the nostrils as I type... Still, it keeps him amused for a while...

I can't for the life of me think where they come from... I'm fully aware that the whole mice and cheese thing is a misconception, which takes the blame off of the wonderful Gouda Viaduct I got from Uncle X last Chrimbo.

I'd get a cat, but that nasty tom next door unnerves me so that I don't think it safe to put a kitten through that constant terror. Something about its hangdog expression, tinged with threat. As if it means to force itself upon you, doesn't relish the prospect, but that the hunger is too great to resist. This is what it must be like living with Michael Barrymore...

Anyway - enough about me... This whole blogging thing is quite new to me (that would make me a... oh what's the net-speak term... that's it - a n00bile). Feel free to leave comments below for me... It'll make a change from listening to Grill listing things that he claims don't exist... Last night it was otters, George Burns and macrame. I'll spare you the detail...

Best,

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